


Home

by eisenhardted



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-14 17:43:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5752381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eisenhardted/pseuds/eisenhardted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No matter the distance and no matter the time, home will always be home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home

It’s after midnight when she hears the thunk of boots being removed beside the door. She wants to say she’s used to it, but these days she’s not. Erik’s practically part cat, he just comes and goes as he pleases, a lodger in a home that isn’t his own yet that still carries with him enough sway to be entitled to stay. Magda isn’t all that impressed when he flops onto the couch beside her as if it’s his rightful throne, mostly because her muscles still remember what it might’ve been like once upon a time to curl up beside him and ask about his day. Nowadays she’s adamant she doesn’t want to know. 

Socked feet rise to rest on the table and ultimately earn his knees a kick as she shuffles away, forcing distance into an already strained history. There are a lot of questions she wants to ask: Has he killed anyone today? Or how many laws has he broken? Neither of which make it out into the open, they just sit like venom seeping into her veins, killing her from the inside out because she isn’t wise or brave enough to say enough is enough. But then again, maybe today she is. 

“You can’t keep coming here, Max.” He hasn’t been Max for years, but that’s what he’ll always be to her. Erik is someone else, someone that carried on living even when a part of her died. Max is the man she married, the silly, scruffy haired dork she remembers kissing in the playground as much as remembers holding his hand while welcoming Anya into the world. Maybe this is the key point of distinction in her plight. Max is welcome, Erik is not. “It isn’t fair.” 

“Why wouldn’t I miłość? I like it here. It’s home.” A quizzical brow raises in confusion, when he wills his head to turn, the ache in his limbs ever present as he braces himself for whatever this is. He’s tired, but then again, when isn’t he? The brotherhood requires more legwork that he’d like to admit - and equality isn’t an overnight thing, it takes years of due diligence and patience. Alright yes on occasion it also involves moderate violence too, but if Magda ever asks it’s all about the power of words. 

“It’s not home. It’s just the place you come to hide when you’re tired and hungry or when you need patching up.” Those eyes drift upwards, glaring as much as they are pleading. Moisture glistens in the corner of each darkened orb, threatening to spill and make matters considerably worse. “But I let you stay anyway. Every god damned time. And I get used to you. I get fond and attached and think that maybe this is like it used to be. So what happens when one day you decide some far off fancy woman can do neater stitches than I can? Or when she cooks better? When you suddenly stop having a reason to be here at all - and I get left at the side of the road like śmieci?” The tears are falling freely, her tone far from level when she’s arguing and trying to place some kind of scope on what she’s feeling. “You were my friend first!” 

As much as Erik doesn’t like seeing her cry, he will confess to her admission threatening to make him smile. It reminds him of youth, of the kind of thing Ruth might’ve argued with him about long before Auschwitz. He knows better than to call her childish, even if he does find the sentiment to be overly laughable. Does she really think so little of him? To presume in any circumstance he’s going to ignore her after spending over a decade fearing her dead? “Kotka…” Erik starts calmly, reaching sideways to wrestle his arm around her shoulders and rein his oldest friend in. “…you’d never be so easily rid of me. I’m here for the long haul. I promise.” 

“What about all the other promises? You’ve been lousy at keeping some of those.” Magda chimes in with a sniff, already recounting the various failed promises over the years. He promised to be safe, to be on time, to be faithful. None of which he’s really had that much luck in keeping. 

It’s a dig below the belt but, Erik let’s it slide. It’s hard to be too incensed by anything someone’s saying when they’re currently turning your shirt into a soggy mess. Instead he just hums thoughtfully, keeping his hold firm and resting his chin atop those fluffy dark curls. “This one I won’t break.” 

“You said that last time.” The brunette grumbles, uncomfortable in her own uncertainty. “Before long you’ll forget I even exist and then what? It’s back to getting scared half to death of the dark, to children that don’t speak to me, and being the only one left in this family that is too inferior to bother with.” 

“I didn’t leave when you turned all of my shirts pink, or when you kept making me sleep outside in the snow for allegedly snoring. Give me a little credit here.”

There’s silence when she drinks in his words, stewing in the sincerity and trying to gauge it’s authenticity. She wants to believe him, really she does, but it’s hard to be the one left behind when your best friend is out there living his life. It’s hard to be stuck in the past when everyone else seems to have progressed to a new and brighter future. Maybe it’s her own self doubt that has her picking at old wounds, or maybe it’s just the plain and simple fact that she’s lonely and not in the mood to become reliant on someone who isn’t in it for the long haul. “They looked better in pink…and so did your nose.” 

“See? That’s why I keep coming back. For the ever affectionate abuse!” Erik remarks wryly, trying to find some flicker of amusement in a situation that seems almost too dire for words. He can’t say something to make this better, can’t wave away years of insecurity however much he might want to - but he can give her the truth if that’s what she needs. “You’re family, liebe - that’s never going to change. Which means, Magda dear, no matter what happens, or where I am, I’ve always got your back - even when you’re dying to see mine.”


End file.
